Nay, for a while, Sybella had not even expected Cyril to exercise his rights as master. He was so young still; and she, for eleven years, had had the irresponsible control of everything; and any sudden alteration was most unlikely. Legally, she might not be any longer his guardian; but she was his aunt, and he was her nephew; and Sybella never believed in young people growing up; and she counted his moral indebtedness to herself as enormous in amount. Altogether there was no reason why everything might not go on exactly the same ad infinitum. A remote possibility did, no doubt, exist that Cyril might some day in the course of years desire to marry; but at present, he was too ridiculously young. Sybella did not intend to allow it.
She was unutterably taken by surprise—"struck on a heap," to use a familiar expression—when Cyril one day brought her a written list of names, and expressed his intention to have the said people invited to dinner on a certain evening.
Sybella read the names aloud, with intervening ejaculations.
"Lady Lucas, and the Trevelyans! Impossible, Cyril! I never ask them together. Lady Lucas does not approve of Mr. Trevelyan's Church views. Mr. James Trevelyan and his mother! No, I do not see the least need to begin having them! They are not at all in my set; and Colonel Atherstone says he is really a most dangerous young man! Evelyn and Miss Moggridge! That dreadful Miss Moggridge! One never knows what she will do next. I detest masculine women. Mr. Cuthbert! No, I don't like Mr. Cuthbert at all. He has such a sneering way of saying things. Mr. Byng—"
Sybella laid down the paper, and said it would not do. It was quite out of the question. She was willing to have a dinner-party, if Cyril liked—though really she was so tired with all that had to be done—she would have preferred to wait a few weeks—but at all events, it could not be that dinner-party. The people would not suit one another at all. It would be most unpleasant.
"You know, one has to be so very particular who one asks to meet who," she went on plaintively and ungrammatically. "Anything of clashing is so extremely disagreeable. And besides—"
"Well, perhaps they would not quite suit," admitted Cyril.
He sat down, facing Miss Devereux with a perverse smile, which ought to have warned her of quicksands near.
"I put in Lady Lucas and Mr. Byng solely for your sake, and if you don't mind we'll leave them out. The rest are all right. Ten isn't a bad number. Besides, we might get Dr. Ingram and his daughter, if two more are needed. He's always an acquisition."
"Dr. Ingram! Cousin of all the Trevelyans! Worse and worse!"